Boots

I hear his boots first.
I lie in bed, shivering.
He walks purposefully, making crunching sounds on the ice.
Someone shouts his name, urgently, but the pace of his steps do not change. He must have walked on another fifty yards in the same manner before I hear his voice.
He sounds calm and amused. I hear low mutterings, and then a general noise fills the air. I can hear his voice rising above the others. I find myself feeling aroused, in my flimsy nightdress.
I can smell him on my skin from last night, and I wonder briefly if my scent might still be upon him, outside in the snow, reminding him of me whilst he wages war.
Someone is screaming. I hesitate. Should I look outside? I tiptoe over to the window and peer through it. There is a man being tied to the grand old Oak, that has stood proudly in this garden for over two hundred years.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I will have a little picnic there. I'll take some bread and cheese, and wood for a fire and a chair to sit upon.
The man struggles further, falling to his knees, the rope collapsing around him like a bedraggled serpent.
He looks so vulnerable. I watch his mouth, opening and closing, presumably begging for mercy.
I study his poor, terrified face staring up at the cold beauty of my husband and I find my hand reaching between my legs. I feel ashamed by the intensity of my desire, but as the pleasure starts seeping from me I soon surrender to it.
After a while they secure him to the tree. Blood drips like scarlet tears from his face onto the snow, and I whisper that it will soon be over and thank the tree for it's compliance.
On goes the blindfold. My husband turns and looks straight at me, wounding and delighting me at the same time.
I rub myself harder, safe in warmth; a female in her pretty room. No threat to the men and their duties- the duties of the strong.
He walks to the mark on the snow never dropping his gaze from me.
He smiles indulgently, letting me know he is aware of my secret and that soon he will come for my body, which is marked by his hand, his belt, his love.
Then he turns, aims, fires.